


whenever i fall (at your feet)

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nail Painting, Victor's Foot Thing, ankle kink, as kixboxer would say, enough thirst to drain the pacific ocean, i just realized i probably should have tagged that, my eros is ankles, not pictured: yuuri's sock collection, sort of inspired by official art, the ankle is the gateway to the foot, victor is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Next to him, Yuuri shifts. He bends down to itch at his ankles. Then he rolls down his socks. The the curve of his ankle bones catch the late afternoon light and Victor suddenly feels breathless.Yuuri turns his head, looking up at Victor from under his lashes. “I um,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “It's kind of hot.”It sure is,Victor does not say. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand that’s not on Yuuri’s thigh. “Uh huh.”“I’m…I’m going to change. My pants. I’ll be back.” Yuuri says, almost tripping over his own feet as he flees.Can I watch you change,Victor also does not say.____Yuuri's eros is ankles.





	whenever i fall (at your feet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafecliche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafecliche/gifts).



> MANY MANY THANKS TO CAFECLICHE FOR TALKING ABOUT ANKLE KINK WITH ME. and then essentially giving me the base for a fic.
> 
> title from "Fall at Your Feet" by Crowded House. 
> 
> also Zettai Kareshi is a manga (and also there's a TV adaptation) about a woman who gets in a love triangle involving her robot boyfriend. It's surprisingly sad at the end JUST WARNING YOU. but that's what Victor and Yuuri are watching in this fic.
> 
> note for anyone who reads my other fics: nothing is abandoned! i'm just in school at the moment and finding writing time has been difficult.
> 
> many thanks to forochel for helping me figure out some of these scenes and also many thanks to fullmetalchords for betaing.
> 
> i can't believe i wrote 3.5k+ of ankle kink in 24 hours. who am i?

Victor’s first act as Yuuri’s new coach is to greet him tits out, dicks out. In Sochi, Yuuri was all ass and ankles—Victor just wants them to start their relationship on equal ground.

Instead Yuuri runs.

Twice.

 _This is what people with lives outside of work do_ , Victor thinks, as he cries into Makkachin’s fur. He’ll have to find a groomer—salt is terrible for Makkachin’s coat. He’s heard tears are good for the skin though. _He flashed me his ass and his ankles? What else was I supposed to do?_

Victor, whose most serious relationship is with his dog, is utterly bewildered. Isn’t _this_ what people with crushes do? He did the research! He made a grand gesture! _Two_ grand gestures! Well, three if you count dicks and tits separately. He could split hairs and count each testicle, but really, hasn’t he rubbed enough salt in his own wounds?

For months after Sochi, Victor had imagined Yuuri making him cry until he finally let him come. Or making Victor come so many times that he cried.

On Victor’s first night in Japan, there is crying (Victor), and coming (Yuuri), but in two different beds rather than the same one.

___________

Yuuri shifts on the couch. After a long day of practice, Victor’s wheedled Yuuri into watching _Zettai Kareshi_  with him. They’re watching two episodes a week. It’s the height of summer and they sit with their shoulders and thighs pressed together in defiance of the sticky Kyushu heat.

Yuuri wouldn’t say that he’s fully adjusted to Victor’s presence. Because, really, how do you adjust to someone who doesn’t sweat, but actually glistens? Well, who glistens until they reach a certain threshold and then suddenly looks like they’re drenched in sweat.

If Yuuri thinks of Victor drenched in sweat for too long his mind goes somewhere very different. And his blood follows.

Victor’s hand had migrated from his own thigh to Yuuri’s a few minutes ago. It feels like a brand. Yuuri’s flesh gives beneath the press of Victor’s fingers and the room is suddenly suffocating. He’s got so much regret over wearing leggings.

His ankles need to _breathe_.

“I’ll be right back.”

Victor pouts but lets him go.

___________

Summer in Kyushu is absolute torture. Victor’s hair doesn’t do well with humidity. But it hardly compares with the constant visual reminders of Yuuri’s ankles.

As soon as they’re off the ice Yuuri rolls up his pants and Victor is suffering. It’s simple math (Victor + ankles = incapacitation) and yet Yuuri doesn’t even seem to know what he’s doing.

But he does let Victor give him a post skate foot massage. Which only makes things worse, because running his thumb over the bony curve of Yuuri’s ankles makes Victor ache. But he’s spent his whole life pursuing a sport that’s just at least seventy five percent falling on your ass, so it’s no wonder he keeps going now.

The press of his body against Yuuri’s is the sweetest torture. Victor never wants to move. Unless it involves Yuuri getting closer.

He loses track of his own limbs a little. The robot boyfriend, Night, is developing emotions and Victor tries not to think about the gnawing void of numbness that had shadowed him until recently.

Next to him, Yuuri shifts. He bends down to itch at his ankles. Then he rolls down his socks. The the curve of his ankle bones catch the late afternoon light and Victor suddenly feels breathless.

Yuuri turns his head, looking up at Victor from under his lashes. “I um,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “It's kind of hot.”

 _It sure is_ , Victor does not say. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand that’s not on Yuuri’s thigh. “Uh huh.”

“I’m…I’m going to change. My pants. I’ll be back.” Yuuri says, almost tripping over his own feet as he flees.

 _Can I watch you change_ , Victor also does not say.

The episode keeps playing, but Victor’s not listening, he’s waiting for the sound of Yuuri’s feet padding down the stairs.

But Yuuri finally returns, he approaches so quietly that Victor doesn’t hear him until he’s sliding into place beside him.

“Sorry.”

Victor can’t tear his eyes away from the bare skin of Yuuri’s ankles. He’s changed into a pair of cropped pants and Victor needs to buy him a million more pairs immediately.

There’s a sound at the doorway and Mari stands, arms folded across her chest, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Victor recovers as best he can. “Thanks for letting us borrow your DVD’s, Mari!” he beams.

“ _My_ DVD’s?” Mari says, choking on laughter.

___________

 **victor “my creative vision is nudity” nikiforov** : chris what do i do i'm so turned on by yuuri's ankles and i can't stop buying him cropped pants?????

 **chris “i’m universally supportive but i need deets” giacometti** : 1. i fail to see how this is a problem and 2. are you secretly a swooning victorian being courted by your beau, and you’ve just locked eyes in an assembly room?

 **victor “my creative vision is nudity” nikiforov** : chris. please.

 **chris “i’m universally supportive but i need deets” giacometti :** victor. I support you. but also I have questions. a lot of questions.

 **victor “my creative vision is nudity” nikiforov** : his eros isn’t katsudon, chris. it’s ankles.

 **chris “i’m universally supportive but i need deets” giacometti :** well now i have even more questions.

___________

Throughout the summer, Victor peppers his Instagram with pictures of Yuuri, and Yuuri finds reasons for all of the subsequent events.

If Yuuri’s wearing an increasingly wide variety of cropped pants, it’s only because Uniqlo had been sending him samples for weeks before Victor finally convinced Yuuri that _really was_ their marketing department and not a prank caller.

If Yuuri’s contract says they can’t cover his ankles, it’s only because Victor knows that he’ll be more comfortable with them bare.

If Chris comments on the Instagram post with a million eggplant emoji’s, it’s only because it’s Chris.

___________

It takes until Rostelecom for Yuuri to realize what’s going on.

(But he doesn’t say anything until much later.)

___________

Victor kneels and kisses his skate. And then, in the quiet hum of a locker room long since emptied of its other occupants, Victor takes off Yuuri’s skates for him at and just sort of...pauses.

Yuuri frowns, his hand hovers over Victor’s head, until he finally decides to card his fingers through the soft strands and rest his palm against Victor’s cheek. Victor leans into his touch and nuzzles again Yuuri’s palm before lifting his head to meet Yuuri’s eyes.

“Victor…did you forget how to take off skates?"

Victor freezes.

“Yes, that's absolutely what's happening here," he chuckles, only slightly manic. Victor thinks he's pulled off a normal tone. Or at least a tone that has normal's forwarding address.

"... okay." Yuuri clutches the bench and rotates his feet to stretch them. There’s a sharp crack as he twists his ankles. “Take your time."

“…okay,” Victor echoes. He sounds like he's been punched in the stomach. He fiddles with the laces on Yuuri’s skate boot.

“You know, If they close the rink on us because you couldn’t get my skates off we'll have to start a life of crime."

Victor's mind flashes through a series of elaborate fantasies of them on the run together, alone, in increasingly exotic locations. All of them have the common theme of nudity. Marble statues were naked for a reason—it’s classic.

“For you, I’d make the sacrifice."

A flush dusts Yuuri’s cheeks and he mutters something that sounds like “I like it when your ass is tight.” Which, fair enough, but that hardly makes sense in this context.

“What was that?” Victor asks. He’s torn. It’s not like he wants to leave Yuuri’s ankles, but if he sits next to Yuuri then Yuuri might let Victor draw a line of kisses from the corner of his jaw to the sweet, soft press of his lips. A third option would be to have Yuuri’s feet _in_ his lap while he sits next to him, but that would require Victor to recover his wits enough to actually take Yuuri’s skates off. Otherwise, if one of Yuuri’s skate guards slips, they might accidentally slice off Victor’s dick. Which isn’t really the mood he’s going for. Now or ever.

“I um. I said it’s not that much of a sacrifice.”

“ _Oh_? Am I such a bad coach you’re willing to lose me to the law?”

“ _Victor_. No! I just…”

Victor is dying for so many reasons. At least his dick is still attached. He really needs to get Yuuri’s skates off. But, wherever the rest of Yuuri’s sentence trailed off to, he doesn’t seem to feel like finishing the thought. So Victor starts working the laces free from the knot. By the time Yuuri speaks again, his beautiful ankles and feet are finally free.

“Remember your Hitchcock exhibition?"

Victor's momentarily jarred out of his own fantasy, which is wildly careening off the rails. There are feathers and gold body paint. Maybe it’s better he was interrupted. “Of course! What about it?"

Yuuri, in all the glory of his bare ankles, flushes. "I. Watching that. You. Make a very dashing jewel thief."

Warmth blooms at the center of Victor's chest, spilling outward, until it seeps into every part of his body. He'd steal Yuuri all the diamonds in the world. Or buy them. Or mine them himself if Yuuri’s into the rugged look. Victor’s certainly had fantasies of Yuuri as a lumberjack offering to help Victor with his wood.

He's willing to make whatever sacrifices are necessary for Yuuri.

___________

Post practice foot massages become a regular thing. Yuuri never says anything about it so Victor just…keeps doing it. When Yuuri lets Victor take of his skating boots and socks, and draw a line of kisses up his leg from his ankle to his thigh (a path Victor calls The Happy Trail) Victor feels like it doesn’t matter if this is a _thing_ in another sense of the word and says nothing. He’s got far better things to do with his mouth.

Yuuri’s sitting on Victor’s bed frowning at his phone screen while his other hand plays with Victor’s hair.

“Yuuri?” Victor arches his head a little more into Yuuri’s touch. The scrape of his fingernails feels so good against Victor’s scalp.

“Hmmm?” Yuuri says, tearing his eyes away from his phone screen. His frown unfurling slightly as his eyes meet Victor’s.

“Is something wrong?”

“No!” Yuuri says, just a little too loud. He looks around, then back to Victor. “I um…just doing some reading.”

“Oh? Anything I’d be interested in?”

" _Absolutely not_ ,” Yuuri hisses. He clutches his phone to his chest in a way that would raise Victor’s suspicions if he weren’t so dazed by his close proximity to Yuuri’s skin.

Victor turns over to bury his face against Yuuri’s stomach. His t-shirt’s slid up, revealing a soft strip of skin just begging for Victor to cover it in kisses.

But before he can, his phone rings.

“Just ignore it,” Victor murmurs into Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri certainly takes after his coach because he totally ignores Victor and grabs Victor’s phone from the nightstand.

“It might be the costumer.”

Right. The pair skate outfits.

Victor sighs and answers it.

“Hello?”

“Victor? It’s Annika. I need to ask about the sequins—“

Victor sighs. The rush of air brushes against Yuuri’s stomach and he shifts, a little ticklish.

“ _Victor_.”

Victor holds his hand over the receiver. “Sorry, _detka_ , I’ll take this into the hall.”

Annika is still discussing the merit of transparent versus opaque sequins as Victor slumps out into the hall, casting a forlorn look at the bed as Makkachin quickly steals his place at Yuuri’s side. He shuts the door behind him.

By the end of the phone call, Victor has a headache and wants to remove all the cell towers in Hasetsu. It’s supposed to be their day off.

“Yuuri we should—“ he starts, choking mid sentence as he slides the door open.

Yuuri’s in his boxer, slowly massaging lotion onto the tops of his feet. His calves glisten in the lamplight. Victor’s mouth is dry.

“Was that Annika? How did it go?” Yuuri asks, like Victor isn’t slowly dying in front of him.

Victor makes what he thinks is a noncommittal noise. But from the way Yuuri’s head snaps to attention, some of his internal anguish must have leaked through.

Oops.

“Is something wrong?”

 _Yes!_ Victor screams internally, _I’m supposed to be the one rubbing lotion on your ankles!_

Yuuri bites his lips and looks down—at his phone? The tips of his ears are red and Victor doesn’t know how he’s supposed to survive this kind of onslaught.

“Do you…want me to come back later?”

Yuuri huffs, his thumbs kneading the soft curve where his ankle meets his foot. “Victor, this is your room.”

“You basically live here,” Victor’s mouth says, outpacing his brain by a good kilometer. His brain is rather occupied with fantasies of Yuuri in Victorian dress, a beacon shining from across a crowded assembly room, just a teasing flash of ankle beckoning Victor to his side.

Yuuri stops. There’s a spot on the top of his foot that he’s clearly missed. Victor’s fingers twitch. “Are you…? I mean, did you want me to—“

Victor stumbles closer to the bed, hand involuntarily reaching towards Yuuri’s foot.

Then the door slams open, and he falls flat on his ass. Makkachin whines from the bed.

Mari storms in, eyeing the scene. “Oh my god you two. Hopeless.”

“Mari!” Yuuri hisses.

“You lost your right to any sort of high ground when you _stole my moisturizer_ for…whatever this is.”

“I was just borrowing it.”

“It’s only borrowing if you actually leave some in the bottle!” Mari turns, and raises an eyebrow at Victor, who’s still sprawled on the floor. “Besides. Victor has a ton of lotion. Use his if you’re going to finally talk to him about his foot thing.”

Victor didn’t know that there was an actual facial expression for “spontaneous combustion” but Yuuri always manages to surprise him.

“Please _leave_ ,” he whines.

Mari does not leave. Instead, she rubs her hands all over Yuuri’s arms. “Some of us work with our hands, Yuuri. Feel! So, really, who needs the moisturizer more?”

Yuuri covers his face with his hands, “Mari _please_.”

He peeks through a finger and makes a sad little noise when he realizes Mari still hasn’t left. Victor wants to cuddle him to his chest but he’s not sure how well that would go over right now.

“Give it.” She holds out her hand and Yuuri shoves the bottle of lotion into her palm.

“ _Will you please go?”_

Mari makes for the door. “Fine. You two can resume…whatever was going on here. With your own lotion.”

She slides the door shut behind her.

Victor’s not sure how to start. Yuuri breaks first.

“Come here?”

Victor doesn’t trust himself to speak so he nods and gets to his feet.

Yuuri shifts over to make room on the bed next to him. Well as much room as he can with Makkachin glued to his side like a barnacle. His face is still buried in his palms.

Victor curls into the empty space next to Yuuri. “So—“

“Well—“ Yuuri starts.

“You go first,” Victor says. His leg bounces, and his heart is hammering in his chest.

“So. Do you? Feet? I mean do you have a uh....foot thing? Or is it an ankle thing?” Yuuri asks, peeking between his fingers.

Victor’s face _burns_. He was trying to tiptoe towards this. Dip a toe in the water. But here's Yuuri, inviting him to dive right in. “I guess? I mean, do I think your feet are incredibly hot? Yes. But I think it’s mostly a Yuuri thing.”

“Oh.” Yuuri says, looking up to met Victor’s eyes with a small smile. “Well…okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, hands falling from his face. He lays one over top of Victors and threads their fingers together.

“Well—“ Yuuri starts. He casts a guilty look at his phone and digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Yuuri?”

“I…sort of knew? I was trying to figure out how to ask you.”

“Oh?” Victor’s voice _almost_ doesn’t crack.

“Victor, you kissed my skates. And Celestino never gave me after practice foot massages.”

Victor makes a noise. “I should hope not!”

Yuuri snorts and a little of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. “Only you. I promise.”

Victor inches closer to Yuuri’s side to wrap his arms around his waist. “Good.”

They lay there for a minute, Yuuri running his fingers along the nape of Victor’s neck, Victor drawing nonsensical patterns on Yuuri’s hip. He’s not going to push this too much. Not yet. He’s not going to point out that—

“So…what now? I guess we should we just go to bed?”

Victor starts upright. “What are you talking about? You missed a spot on your left ankle!”

“Seriously?”

Victor nods. Dry skin is a serious issue. And Yuuri’s feet—no Yuuri’s _everything_ deserve the best.

Yuuri lets out an amused sigh. “Then get the lotion and come here.”

(Victor might end up taking those last two words a little too literally. Yuuri doesn’t mind.)

___________

 _Winter in St. Petersburg is much better when there’s someone to cuddle with,_ Victor thinks, leading Makkachin into the elevator after her walk.

With Yuuri in it, Victor’s bed finally feels like the right size. Victor had never slept so well as he had their first night in their— _their!_ —apartment, after Yuuri had made him come some many times that he’d cried.

Victor digs his keys out of his pocket and opens the door. A blast of hot air hits the frozen tip of his nose and he slides his keys onto the hook next to Yuuri’s set. He smiles. _Two_ sets of keys.

“Yuuri!” Victor calls. Makkachin bounds towards the couch and immediately stretches herself over all the cushions.

“I’m in the bedroom,” Yuuri says, voice slightly muffled.

Victor shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold. He rushes towards the bedroom, stumbling over his own feet a little. In a haste versus dignity Olympics where the prize is Yuuri, dignity loses every time.

“Oh? Do you have a surprise—“ Victor skids to a halt so fast he almost hears a screech.

Yuuri’s reclined naked on the bed, save for Victor’s Olympic jacket and a pair of black lace panties. He’s more beautiful than Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” and there’s a bottle of red nail polish dangling from his fingers.

“Welcome home Vitya.”

Victor makes a noise that’s neither English or Russian. It might be the start of an entirely new linguistic system.

Yuuri fiddles with the zipper on Victor’s jacket, unzipping and re-zipping the same tantalizing few inches. “You were gone so long. And I wanted to feel like you were here.”

Victor nods his agreement. Makkachin’s walk takes an entire twenty minutes which might as well be eternity when it means being away from Yuuri.

Yuuri pulls the collar of the jacket up to his nose and inhales. “It smells like you.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Victor whimpers.

Yuuri lets the polish dangle from his finger tips. It swings a little. “Do you think this color would look good on me?”

“Everything and nothing looks good on you,” Victor says, prowling closer towards the bed. For that one shining moment, he's proudly holding his own in this conversation. 

(It doesn't last.)

“Paint my toes and then we can celebrate.” Yuuri says, with a smile that has to be illegal in at least fifteen countries. His flush spills over the tops of his ears and down his neck but he still swings the bottle even though his face is a matching shade of red. Victor loves him so much.

Victor sits on the bed and picks up Yuuri’s left foot, running the pads of his thumbs over the arch. The skin is soft and just slightly damp. Yuuri shivers a little at the touch and holds out the bottle of polish. Victor dots a constellation of kisses to the inside of Yuuri’s ankle and then gets to work.

The smell of acetone fills the room as soon as Victor uncaps the bottle. He braces Yuuri’s left foot against his thigh. He’ll get to the right one later.

This is a mistake.

Victor’s only halfway through painting Yuuri’s big toe when he feels something press between his legs. His eyes flick down and then back to Yuuri who stares out at him from under his eyelashes. As though his right foot weren’t pressed against Victor’s increasingly stiff cock.

“Looks like you missed a spot,” is all Yuuri says as he increases the pressure.

Victor whimpers. He finishes Yuuri’s left foot and starts on his right. And while the pressure is gone, the erection is not.

“Something wrong, Vitya?” Yuuri asks. As if he doesn’t know _exactly_ what he’s doing.

“No,” Victor says, voice wavering.

Yuuri smiles. “You’re so good to me,” he says and that’s it, Victor’s going to die. But he needs to finish Yuuri’s toes first.

Four excruciating minutes later, he places the last bit of polish on Yuuri’s adorable pinky toe.

“All done,” Victor says, admiring his efforts.

Yuuri holds out his arms and wiggles his fingers. “Come here?”

Victor slides up the bed and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s mouth before veering towards his neck. The marks he left there last week are fading, and that’s unacceptable. He snags the jacket’s zipper with his other hand and wrestles it open. Then, he skims his palm down Yuuri’s chest and stomach until he reaches the scrap of lace that only just qualifies as underwear. Yuuri moans but grabs his hand and forces it to still.

“Wait.”

Victor looks up. He wants to cry. Tonight, it seems Yuuri’s determined to make Victor cry before he’s allowed to come.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuuri smiles a smile that only spells agony for Victor’s dick. “We have to wait for the polish to dry first.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [on tumblr](http://katsukiyuuristrophyhusband.tumblr.com) come yell at me about yuuri's sock and nail polish collections.
> 
> EDIT TO ADD: the jacket + lace panties combo in the last scene is definitely an homage to lazulisong's [you're like heaven to touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056092) and in my rush to post i forgot to make sure that that was in my notes. if you haven't read that fic DO IT NOW.


End file.
